by John Field
The
crime scene of this Raymond Chandler thriller
Is
an avenue in Beverly Hills lined with palm trees,
Pink-stucco
villas, mansions and cobblestone courtyards.
It's
midnight on a warm summer evenlng in 1949.
Suspect
number one is Gino,
A
big-assed, pig-eyed, sleazy-hearted gambler
On
the skids who needs a lot of dough, fast.
Gino
and his lo and behold drop-dead gorgeous wife
Lorraine
are sipping martinis in their living room
With
Jake and Bernice, a mismatched odd couple
Who
live next door. Jake never had a music lesson
When
he was a kid, never kicked a soccer ball.
He
spent his youth practicing his hands
Against
furry little animals he fondled
And
then killed. He's suspect number two.
Suspect
number three is whoever's hiding behind the curtain.
Bernice's
face is as plain as a plastic table cloth,
Her
heart as closed as the innermost ring
Of
a redwood tree,
Her
smile as tight as a hundred year old
Morning
Glory seed
And
her eyes as empty as two knot holes in a fence.
Why
did Jake marry her?
Because
she's got the money.
Bernice
never lets on that she knows
Jake
is in love with Lorraine and why not
Who
wouldn't be is the way she reasons it out
Pragmatically
because Lorraine is blonder,
Younger,
sexier and slimmer than she is.
(An excerpt from a story in poetic form)
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